


Maybes and Might-Have-Beens

by derryderrydown



Category: Sex Pistols (Band)
Genre: M/M, very old story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regrets are a part of life - and of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybes and Might-Have-Beens

John tried to explain it to Sid. Sex had nothing to do with real feelings, he said. Real feelings were deep down and you didn't talk about them because you didn't need to.

Sid believed him. Sid believed everything John told him.

It was annoying at first. The Johns were an eclectic group brought together by individuality. Mindless agreement went against all their unspoken ideals. (Who needed words when fashion could say it for you, louder than you could scream?)

But Sid didn't agree with all the Johns; just this John. And this John slowly changed his mind. Maybe it wasn't mindless agreement. Maybe it was a genuine meeting of minds. Maybe. Just maybe.

So Sid stayed. Came round for tea. John went to his and was given quiche. All so damn sweet. Positively middle-class, if it weren't for the rats under the sink and the syringes boiling on the hob.

And Sid turned up at John's, shivering with cold because wearing a coat would cover up his new shirt. Hobbling along in crippling sandals so he could show off his toenail polish.

Fashion victim, John said fondly, as he ripped up his own clothing and safety-pinned it back together.

And Sid smiled, agreed with John and carried on worshipping David Bowie anyway.

It didn't seem to matter. It was nice, having Sid around. Comfortable.

(Maybe a bit of mindless agreement has its place, a traitorous whisper hissed in the corner of John's mind. It's not mindless, John insisted. It's a meeting of minds. The whisper sniggered.)

When John was thrown out by his dad, he moved into Sid's squat and that was comfortable too. Cigarettes and drugs and burning and dealing. Always pushing. Always trying for something new.

(Hanging out at the gay clubs, where the best music was, Sid started to look at John.)

And then the Pistols happened and John finally had an outlet for all the things he wanted to say. Sid's respect turned into worship. Whenever John looked down from the stage, Sid was staring at him, enraptured.

When John got out of a practice session, sizzling with the frustration Matlock inspired in him, Sid listened and agreed that Matlock was a wanker, a wannabe pretty-boy with no morals, no ethics, no idea what they were doing. Even worse, the ultimate sin, he was middle-class.

And John watched Matlock and became even more determined to stick to his own opinions.

Sex was boring. Sex was dull. Sex was a waste of time. (The phrases echoed round his mind even while he screwed somebody against the toilet wall.) Sex had nothing to do with real feelings.

So what did it matter if Sid's belief that he was drop-dead gorgeous was becoming contagious?

Sex wasn't been part of the equation because this was a _friendship_ and sex was too pointless to have a place in a friendship.

John explained this to Sid. Sid frowned, looked away and absently agreed.

Then Matlock walked out and Sid walked in and life was perfect, until Nancy fucking Spungen crept on to the scene like mould into the fucking shower and that was that. Sid gave up waiting for John and exploded out of virginity.

John's Sid vanished (maybe he never existed) and there was just a junkie twat and fucking McLaren and fucking Jones-and-Cook in their fucking stupid little clique and no fucking point to it any more. Not without Sid.

Fucking pointless.

He watched, from a distance, as Sid became a paper-thin caricature. Watched as he struggled to get his life back together. (John wanted to go to him. They'd been _friends_, for fuck's sake. But he heard that Sid hated him, so he didn't.)

Watched as Sid was betrayed, yet again, by those he trusted.

Until he was left watching a corpse.

And maybe, just maybe, sex could have been fun and interesting and had a purpose. If it had, things might have been different.

Maybe.


End file.
